


Baby, We Can Make It

by allwedoissurvive



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, IT 2017, it 2019 - Fandom
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Nightmares, a side of hurt/comfort, also a side note of angst uwu, also my best friend gave me the inspiration to write this so a big thank you to my bestie!!!!!!!, author has no idea how to write a summary, best friends to roommates to lovers, it do be like that sometimes, the dream is kinda fucked up.. I’m so sorry Richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 12:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21302072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwedoissurvive/pseuds/allwedoissurvive
Summary: Eddie doesn’t know where else to go.Richie is an idiot.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 179





	Baby, We Can Make It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my best friend Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+best+friend+Kit).

> sup my dudes
> 
> so I’ve never published anything before but my best friend read this fic and she made me do it. @ Kit thanks for kicking my ass!
> 
> also, yeah, I’m kinda nervous, but I hope y’all like it?

Richie likes to listen to the rain. It’s calming; it patters against his windows rhythmically, drowns out the noise of cars and their occasional honking. It gives him something to concentrate on beside his _stupid_ dreams and that _stupid _ _ fucking clown. _

Ever since they defeated It, old-forgotten memories come back to him when he least expects it, and he’s mostly glad for it, because a lot of them are good.  He’ll be drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, and suddenly he’ll remember the Losers coming over to his place a couple of days before Christmas in 1989. He remembers how they lounged around, played games, and how he slapped a Christmas hat on Eddie’s head just to annoy him. That particular year, Stan told them in great detail about Jewish holidays and traditions (which he’d usually just mention casually here and there, or answer in a few words whenever they asked), and they sat in a circle in Richie’s living room and listened to him curiously, sipping on their hot chocolates.

Or he’ll be in Home Depot, looking for some new furniture not because he particularly needs it, but because his apartment feels entirely too big and empty for some reason he can’t quite put his fingers on, and he’ll see a hammock and think about Eddie. (The emptiness grows, and Richie feels stupid for ever thinking that furniture could possibly help him banish it.)

Rain, in particular, always brings back nice memories, and Richie closes his eyes, lets them calm him down.

Chilling with the Losers on a rainy day. That one time he raced Bill through the wet, slick streets, and Bill won, but  _ only _ because Richie fell off his bike and hit his head. Bev used to sneak out at night sometimes and come over to his place, since he lived closer to her than the others, and they’d climb onto the roof of his house and talk, no matter the weather, because his parents would hear her if she was inside. He remembers that Stan hated the rain because it messed with his hair, so he was the only one who ever carried an umbrella, and the others (mostly Richie and Eddie) would fight for a spot under it while Stan looked like he wanted to whack them over the head. Ben always wore a hat and scarf when it rained, which made him look impossibly soft, and Mike would walk around in a t-shirt like it was 86 degrees, which made Eddie’s protective instincts kick in, and he’d ramble on and on about different sicknesses and whatnot until Mike finally got himself a rain coat.

As for Eddie... oh, how Richie  _ loved _ to jump into puddles and get mud all over Eddie’s pants, then invite him over to his place to clean up. Richie took after Mike and always wore clothes that weren’t suitable for rainy weather, and most of the time he was cold as shit, but he kept on doing it because he loved to have Eddie’s attention. Unlike Mike, Richie never backed down, and one day, Eddie stomped up to him and thrust a rain coat into his arms. “I swear to god, if you ever go out like this again I’m going to murder you,  _ if _ you don’t die from pneumonia first. Wear the fucking coat, you dumbfuck.”

Richie still has that thing somewhere. He never could force himself to get rid of it, and he’s glad of it.

He just stares up at the ceiling, listens to the rain and remembers things about his childhood that are worth remembering - and, for a while, forgets about the things he wishes he could bleach out of his brain.

Another sound registers in Richie’s brain, but it’s faint, could easily be a fragment of his imagination. He frowns, confused, and grabs his glasses from the nightstand.

_ Bang bang BANG BANG BANG. _

Okay. Not his imagination, but who the fuck would knock on his door at 2:53 in the fucking morning?

_ BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG! _

The sound grows louder, and Richie grumbles to himself. Swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, he shouts, “I’m coming!” but the knocking doesn’t stop, so he rips open the door and is ready to tell this person to kindly fuck off, but the words shrivel up and die in his mouth.

“...Eddie?”

“R-Richie,” comes the stuttered reply. Eddie is shaking like crazy, the arm that isn’t holding his suitcase wrapped around his chest as if that would help him preserve warmth. “S-Sorry, Rich, I just, d-d-didn’t know wh-where else to g-go-”

“Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ,” Richie mutters and all but drags the idiot inside. “God, what the fuck were you doing out in the rain? It’s 41 degrees, asshole, and you’re just wearing a hoodie! You’re soaked! What the  _ fuck _ _,_ man?!”

Their roles feel strangely reversed, and Richie would comment on it if  Eddie wasn’t _shaking so goddamn much._

“Seriously, what the _hell_, man?” Eddie still hasn’t said anything, hasn’t told him to shut up, and it worries the fuck out of him. Richie takes a deep breath to calm himself, then says, “You know what, go take a shower. Or a bath, I don’t fucking care, but you get  rid of these wet ass clothes and you get warm,  _ capiche?” _

Eddie nods. His teeth are chattering like crazy, maybe that’s why he hasn’t said very much yet, and Richie leads him to the bathroom, where he decides that a bath is probably safer, because that way the idiot can’t slip and hit his head or something.

(Really, it’s ridiculous just how  _ Eddie _ he is right now.)

While they’re waiting for the water to fill the tub, Richie helps the stupid bastard peel the wet clothes off his body (which, really, he’s dreamed about doing  a lot, but there’s nothing romantic or remotely sexy about it right now). While he’s working on removing the pants (which won’t come the fuck off because they’re tight and super wet, and this  _ would _ be kind of hot if Richie wasn’t busy debating whether or not he should cut them off because he’s pretty sure they’re not budging one bit, no matter how hard he pulls on them), Eddie suddenly pipes up.

“M-My clo-clothes are w-wet.”

Richie looks up at him. “What?”

“Suitcase. Not w-waterproof.”

“What, _your_ suitcase isn’t waterproof?  _Eddie.”_ He makes sure that he overly dramatizes  the way he says the asshole’s name; it ends up sounding not unlike how a rich man’s wife in some twentieth century movie dramatically gasps out her husband’s name when he comes home after a bar brawl with a bloody nose, all shocked and worried.

He earns a very Eddie-like glare in return, the non-verbal version of  _ beep beep, Richie _ _._ Richie grins at him, secretly glad that the bastard’s brain hasn’t frozen. “Geez, someone’s in a good mood tonight,” he jokes. The glare intensifies, so he sighs dramatically. “Fiiiiiine. I  _ guess _ you can have some of my clothes. I mean, personally, I wouldn’t mind if you just walked around here naked-”

_ “Richie.” _

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll shut up.”

Somehow, Richie gets the pants off of Eddie, which brings him to an entirely new problem. Should he, like. Take off the boxers? Or is that... weird? They’re wet, though. So... he probably should. Take them off. Right?

Eddie solves that problem for him and takes them off himself, using Richie’s shoulders to stabilize himself so he doesn’t fall. Richie very pointedly looks at the floor. Fuck, he’s blushing like some stupid teenager.  _ This is embarrassing. _

He helps Eddie climb into the bathtub and hopes his dumb blush is gone by the time he stands up and declares he’s going to find some clothes for Eddie to wear.

The things he ends up choosing are  _ delightful _ . The t-shirt, gray in color, shows Darth Vader pinning Luke Skywalker to the floor with his legs. Luke is holding his lightsaber in one hand, the arm outstretched, and Darth Vader has a tight grip on that arm, about to take the lightsaber from Luke. The text under the graphic reads, “WHO’S YOUR DADDY?” in that Star Wars font. Eddie is going to  _ hate _ it.

He has a hard time choosing a pair of sweatpants - his choices are Shrek, that frog meme from 2016, and one that has a salami pizza background upon which the Pizza Hut logo and the words “Pizza Slut” are printed. Richie wants to choose the pizza one, but he knows Eddie would refuse to and would rather sleep naked that wear that,  which, despite his earlier joke, he knows wouldn’t be good for his sanity  _ at all, _ so he goes with Pepe the frog. It’s ridiculous enough to piss Eddie off, but he’ll still wear it, and Richie rubs his hands together in anticipation.

He grabs a pair of socks (a galaxy background with cats on them), boxers (he briefly thinks about giving him the pink pair that says “REBEL” on the front and back, but decides that if Eddie finds out he owns that, he’ll never live it down, so he just grabs a plain black pair instead).

He proudly walks into the bathroom and puts the clothes on top of the towel that is now Eddie’s. Eddie squints, suspicious the second he sees Richie’s proud stance and his smirk, but can’t really see anything from his current angle, so he drops it for now.

At least he isn’t shaking anymore, and some color is returning to his face. Funny, Richie didn’t even realize how goddamn pale he was. (Which, honestly? Is probably for the best.)

So, there they are. Eddie is naked in Richie’s bathtub at shortly after three in the morning, and Richie doesn’t know what the fuck to do now. Does he... ask Eddie what’s going on? Does the fucker even want to talk about it?

He decides that they should talk about shit tomorrow. Right? Is that better? Probably, because Richie is half convinced this is a dream. Eddie Kaspbrak is naked.  In his  _ bathtub _ .

“So, uh, I guess I’ll, like, leave you be?” He cringes when he hears how awkward and unsure he sounds and turns around to go when he hears,

“Richie, wait! Don’t-” Eddie swallows audibly and adds, quietly: “Don’t go.  _ Please.” _

Richie is so overwhelmed by  _ love _ and worry that he feels like he’s going to throw up. Like, his entire body is so full of emotion that it doesn’t know how to deal, and his heart hurts. It literally  _ hurts _ _,_ like someone’s squeezing it, and all he wants to do is hold Eddie and never let go. He walks the remaining distance to the tub and sits down, his back leaning against the cold porcelain. Softly, he asks, “What’s up, Kaspbrak?”

Eddie hesitates. He’s hunched over, which makes him look smaller than he already fucking is, and Richie doesn’t want to pry or anything so he waits, stays quiet. After a few moments, he hears a sharp intake of breath. “Sorry for showing up here unannounced,” Eddie says. Before Richie can say something like  _ no, hey, you don’t have to apologize, you can come to me anytime, man _ _,_ Eddie continues. “So, uh, I got a divorce?”

Richie knows he should be sad or whatever, but he can’t bring himself to be. He’s never actually _met_ Myra before, but he heard Eddie talking to her on the phone, and that was all it took for him to decide he hates that woman. Too much like Sonia, a control freak who keeps Eddie down, decides things for him, makes him feel fucking stupid, manipulates him into thinking things are his fault when they aren’t. He deserves so much better; deserves someone who lets him make his own decisions, who recognizes how amazing and loyal and  brave Eddie is. Someone who recognizes that he has a heart of fucking gold.

_ (Like you?  _ a traitorous, hopeful little voice whispers inside his head, and another one replies,  _ No. He deserves someone better. You’re a fuck-up, Tozier, and he knows it. He doesn’t even like guys, and if he did, he certainly wouldn’t fall for someone like **you.**) _

Eddie’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “I got a divorce,” he repeats, a little firmer this time. “And, uh. I told Myra some... some stuff. She, uh, she k-kicked me out?”

Richie is not a very violent person, but he wants to  _ kill _ that woman. Why would she throw him out? In the middle of the night, when it’s raining like shit! Eddie is  _ perfect, _ how does she not  _ realize _ that, how  _fucking_ _stupid can a person be?!_

“I, uh. I told her I’m in love with someone else,” Eddie confesses. That shuts Richie up, because he’s hopeful. Only for a moment, because that same voice from before comes back and starts listing all the reasons why Richie isn’t good enough for Eddie.

“O-Oh?” is all Richie manages to say.

“Yeah.” Eddie doesn’t elaborate, and Richie doesn’t ask.

All he says is, “You can stay here as long as you need.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” Richie makes sure to really pop the ‘p’, and Eddie’s scowl deepens.

“I’m not fucking wearing that.”

“Sorry, that’s the only shit I can give you. The rest hasn’t been washed in, like, weeks.” Eddie makes a face, and Richie grins. “I mean, I do have  _ this, _ _”_ and he holds up the Pizza Slut sweatpants.

Eddie stops complaining.

It’s 3:43am by the time Eddie exits the bathroom, having sent Richie out after the clothing discussion so he could get dressed in private.

Richie’s eyes are falling shut, but he fights against the urge to sleep. It’s obvious he failed when he opens his eyes to find Eddie in front of him, in all his 5’9”, “WHO’S YOUR DADDY?” and Pepe-wearing glory.

“You should go to bed, man,” he says as Richie rubs his eyes. “I’ll take the couch.”

“W-What? No, that’s- no, man, isn’t it, like, a rule that the guest gets the bed? I’m pretty sure that’s a rule.”

“I don’t... I don’t think so?”

“No, I’m sure. And  _ you _ are the guest, so  _ you _ get the bed. Easy.”

“But you’re older.”

“I’m- oh,  _fuck you_, dipshit.”

They decide on a round of rock scissors paper, which is fair and easy. Eddie wins, so Richie shows him where the bedroom is and fucks off to the couch.

Nights on the couch aren’t very good for his neck. Or his back. Richie groans and stretches, then realizes that the apartment isn’t quiet. He listens, tilting his head to the side, and there’s some clattering followed by swearing.

_Eddie_. Because, yeah, last night definitely happened.

He decides to investigate and finds Eddie in the laundry room, currently in the process of picking up some things he knocked over. The washing machine and the dryer are both doing their work, filling the room with deafening noise, and there’s a neat pile of dirty clothes on the floor that indicates that cleaning his shit is going to take a while.

Eddie hasn’t noticed him yet, so he takes a few moments to comb through his hair with his hands, trying to smooth it down as much as possible. But then he gets so caught up in that that he doesn’t notice Eddie getting up- until he hears the things that were just collected clattering to the floor again.

“Jesus fuck, Richie!” Eddie yells, clearly startled. “What the  _ fuck _ are you doing?!”

Richie opens his mouth, realizes he doesn’t know what to say, and closes it again. He repeats this a few times, very aware of how Eddie is looking at him, until he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind, which is always a bad fucking idea. Case in point: what he ends up saying is, “Uh, y-your mom?”

“Fuck you, Trashmouth.” He kneels down to pick up the shit he dropped, again.  Richie bends down and helps him. Eddie doesn’t comment on the fact that Richie was fixing his hair, which he’s glad for because that would insinuate that he cares about how he looks and how Eddie sees him, which he  _totally doesn’t, _thank you very much.  Eddie rants instead, about how dirty Richie’s clothes are, how he should’ve washed them sooner, does he even have anything clean to wear? Something that isn’t totally fucking ridiculous? Oh,  _and _ _why isn’t there anything edible in your fridge, Tozier? I wanted to make breakfast but you don’t have shit. No, asshole, days-old take-out food doesn’t fucking count. That’s disgusting_.

Truth be told, Richie has never been the best at taking care of himself. As a kid, he had the Losers (but especially Eddie) to force him to eat regularly, dress appropriately for the weather, shower, clean his room, that sort of shit. When he moved away, his parents made him do that crap (though not nearly as well as his friends, not that he remembered it at that point), but then he got his own apartment and he just sort of went downhill from there. Sleepless nights, no real food for days, alcohol, piles of dirty laundry, messy rooms and dust everywhere - that was his life. Still  _is_, to some extent. He’s sleeping (kind of, it’s not _his_ fucking fault he has nightmares), eating somewhat regularly-

Okay, who is he kidding. He’s a fucking mess.

Eddie tells him it’s simply unacceptable. He makes a to-do list and promptly takes Richie grocery shopping; when they return, they’re both carrying two full bags, which is honestly insane. Richie has never spent that much on food before.

Eddie seems satisfied, but he’s not done. He makes breakfast for them, bacon and eggs; when they’re done eating, they do the laundry and clean the  _ entire _ fucking apartment. It’s much more fun than Richie thought it would be, though he suspects it’s because of his guest slash roommate.

By the time they’re done, it’s eight in the evening, and Richie is exhausted. All he wants to do is sleep, but Eddie tells him that it’s important to eat,  _you haven’t eaten all day, asshole, you must be starving_, and makes dinner for them.

They fall into some sort of routine. Whoever wakes up first makes breakfast (Eddie is pleasantly surprised to find out that Richie makes some really good pancakes, not that he gets to taste them often), they busy themselves with various things (they play some games on the PS4, or on their phone, or even play some boring fucking board game, because yes, Eddie’s got him that whipped). Richie writes some material for his upcoming comedy special, lets Eddie read some of it and finds himself delighted every time it makes the smaller man laugh.

They go out, sometimes, to play mini golf, or go to the movies, or go to some restaurant Richie heard about that’s supposed to be really good. If they don’t eat out, Eddie cooks dinner,  _ insists _ on it. “I wanna do something nice for you, so shut up and let me.”

The words make Richie feel warm and fuzzy every time he thinks about them.

Sometimes, Richie falls asleep on the couch against his will, and when he wakes up the apartment will be dark, indicating that Eddie has gone to bed. There’ll be a sense of loss at first, a certain degree of disappointment, but then he’ll realize that his glasses aren’t on his face anymore and there’s a blanket tucked securely around his body. He falls back asleep with a smile on his face.

“Here,” Eddie says one day and tosses something at Richie, who’s too slow to catch it. It hits him in the chest and falls into his lap. He picks it up, turns it around in his hands; it’s heavy and super soft, and,  _ wait a second- _

“...You bought me a blanket?”

“That ratty old thing can’t possibly be keeping you warm, asshole,” Eddie says, holding up the blanket that he’s been using so far. “Seriously, do you  _ want _ to catch a cold?”

Richie swallows down his feelings and shrugs. “Why not? I’ve got the world’s best nurse to take care of me.”

Eddie hits him with a pillow, and Richie snorts. The blanket becomes one of his most treasured possessions.

It’s raining again when Richie wakes up from his nightmare. Having Eddie here really helps, but doesn’t make them go away completely. Still, they were manageable so far.

This time, he wakes up in cold sweat with tears on his face. He’s overcome by a feeling of complete terror, he can’t shake it, can’t quite catch his breath no matter how long and hard he tries, and normally he’d drink himself into oblivion but Eddie would be disappointed if he-

Wait.

_Eddie_.

He still hasn’t stopped crying by the time he steps into his (Eddie’s?) bedroom, is vaguely aware of how pathetic he must look, but he can’t bring himself to care. The room is dark, but Eddie is awake, blinking up at him owlishly. He’s always been a light sleeper.

“Mmmm... Rich?”

“E-Eds,” he whimpers, and immediately, the smaller man seems more awake.

“Rich? What’s wrong?”

“I- I-”

“Jesus, Rich, sit down. What’s wrong? Did anything happen?”

Eddie puts a hand on his arm, gently makes him sit. His touch is grounding, so is his voice, and Richie finds himself talking without fully realizing what he’s saying. “You- You d-died,” he rasps. His heart is still beating entirely too fast. “I- I tried, Eds, but I _didn’t-_ and, and you-”

“But I’m fine,” Eddie soothes. “I’m here. I didn’t die, Rich.”

“No,  _no_, you- you don’t-” He takes a few deep breaths, or tries to, anyway. “It was... so s- _slow_. H-He... he w-was rip-ripping y-you  _apart_, E-Eds, he- and, and you- There was-“

_ -so much blood, _ he tries to say.  _ He kept tearing away your skin, ripped off your fingers, your hands, your arms, and you begged me to save you, but I couldn’t move. You were bleeding all over me, and I couldn’t fucking move, I just watched you suffer and die. _ As it is, he loses his ability to form proper, coherent sentences, but Eddie has heard enough. He lets Richie fall into his arms and holds him, soothes him as well as he can until the crying stops some time later. When Eddie looks down, he sees that Richie’s eyes are closed, and the thought  _ he cried himself to sleep, Jesus, how fucking often has he done that? _ causes a protective feeling to rise up inside of him. The intensity of it nearly chokes him.

He gently guides them into a lying position, keeping his arms around the other man as he does, and tucks the blankets around their bodies. Richie’s breathing is still off, doing that weird post-crying thing where his breathing catches in his throat every few seconds and he makes these almost-gasping noises, breathes normally again for a few moments, and repeats that process.

Eddie presses his lips to Richie’s forehead, doesn’t move them away completely afterwards. He keeps them there, lightly pressed against the other man’s skin, barely even brushing against it.

They wake up the next morning and don’t speak about it, apart from Eddie’s soft “You know you can always come to me, right, Rich?” at the breakfast table. Richie nods in response, not meeting his gaze. “Thanks, Eds.”

That night, Richie comes back. He isn’t crying this time, just looks tired, like he’s spent the past few hours tossing and turning.

“Nightmare?” Eddie asks anyway, already scooting over so Richie can get in the bed.

“Nah,” comes the response. “I just. I... I couldn’t... sleep without you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie confesses. “Same here.”

Richie smiles. He doesn’t sleep on the couch again.

Slowly, things change. It’s like they’ve been holding back all this time, but those nights spent cuddling told them it was okay, that the other person didn’t mind physical contact as much as they thought they would. And that’s all this is, just some physical contact. They’re both touch-starved guys, it doesn’t mean anything.

Right?

But there’s more than just friendship between them. It’s obvious in the way they casually throw their arms around the other’s shoulders or waist, or how they’re firmly pressed against each other when they’re watching TV. It’s resting a head on the other person’s chest, a hand casually playing with soft hair, pinkies wrapped around the other’s because they’re too shy to properly hold hands yet. It’s Richie hugging Eddie from behind in the mornings, still half-asleep, and nuzzling his face into Eddie’s neck, or Eddie helping Richie choose what to wear, saying things like  _ the blue really makes your eyes pop  _ or  _ you look really nice in that, Rich. _ Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly bold, he’ll reach up and fix Richie’s collar for him, or adjust his tie, or pick imaginary lint off his clothes, just to have an excuse to stand entirely too close to him.

Weeks pass like that; it’s an endless game of sharing a bed, cuddling, being physically close to one another to the point where they’re almost always touching, which, of course, the media has picked up on.

There are several articles, full of pictures of Richie and Eddie looking  extremely couple-y, and the headlines are always something along the lines of:  _ Comedian Richie Tozier spotted with mystery man, _ which of course sparks a discussion about his sexuality.

The first night after he finds out about the articles, they’re in bed, his head resting on Eddie’s chest, and he’s trying to figure out what to say but doesn’t really know how to do it. It’s scary, even though he’s forty fucking years old and it really, really shouldn’t be. He’s not confessing it to the world, he’s saying it to Eddie, who’s his best friend, his roommate of several months. Eddie is  _ safe. _

But what if it changes too much between them? What if their touching is strictly platonic, and once he confesses Eddie will feel uncomfortable being close to him, and he’ll go back to pining and yearning from afar?

He doesn’t think he could do that. He really,  _ really _ doesn’t. It would be fucking torture.

“The fuck are you so tense for, Rich? Fucking relax, you’re making me nervous.”

“Okay,” he says, and he tries, he  _does_, but he can’t do it. Eventually, he gives up.

“Hey, Eddie?”

The man in question hums, indicating that he’s listening, but his eyes remain closed. Richie is glad for it - it makes him feel less pressured, somehow. “So. I... uh.” He hesitates, Eddie opens one eye, and Richie panics and the words come rushing out of his mouth before he can control them. “So, I’m gay. I like guys. Always have. Obviously. I mean, maybe not  _ obviously, _ some people don’t realize they’re gay until much later in life so they don’t like guys, or girls, for a good portion of their life- wait, no that came out wrong, they, like,  _ think _ they don’t like guys or girls, which is, like,  _ totally _ valid-”

“Richie.”

“-but like, they _do_ and they don’t know it, it just takes them a while to figure out, which is probably super shitty, can you imagine that? Spending your life with some woman you later realize you don’t even love, and then you go  _ oh no! This was a mistake! I don’t even love you! _ and it’s just this huge, massive mindfuck?”

“Richie...”

“I’m rambling, shit, I know, just, you’re the first person I’ve told and I don’t want you to leave because you mean too much to me and this stupid apartment felt so fucking empty without you,  _ shit _ I don’t want to guilt-trip you into staying either it’s okay if you wanna go, I understand, I mean I don’t want you to but I get it I wouldn’t wanna stay with the weird gay guy either-”

“For fuck’s sake, Richie, just shut up and  _ breathe.” _

Richie’s mouth snaps shut. His heart is beating so fast it makes him a little dizzy, and he stares at Eddie.

“Remember the night I came here and I told you that it wasn’t Myra I was in love with, but someone else?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Well. That person is... a guy.”

Richie’s mouth is stuck in an _o_ shape for a few seconds. Is Eddie saying- Is he- Is this- is this really happening?

“You- you’re-?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay,” Richie says. His mouth is dry, and he’s pretty sure his hands are shaky even if he doesn’t know why, but there’s a smile on his face, small and happy and hopeful.

“Okay,” Eddie repeats, and that’s that.

Confessing the rest doesn’t feel like that big of a deal, anymore.

Despite the voices in his head, he’s kind of sure that this has long surpassed strictly platonic levels. Eddie’s presence makes him feel calm, completely at ease, and he knows it won’t be long until one of them crack and say it out loud.

It just so happens that Eddie is making dinner again the day he thinks about confessing.

It’s nothing big, just some pasta, but Richie can’t tear his eyes away from him. He’s singing along to a song that’s playing on the music channel, swaying his hips and dancing as much as he can in the somewhat cramped kitchen, and looks so happy, so in his element, that Richie’s heart nearly bursts with love. He probably looks like an idiot, but he can’t stop smiling.

Inevitably, Eddie catches his gaze and smiles at him, still bouncing to the rhythm of the music. “Why are you looking at me like that, Trashmouth?”

Richie can’t even bring himself to crack a joke. This man, this _stupidly adorable man,_ takes his breath away, makes him realize why people would ever consider marriage. He never quite understood it, before - isn’t it just a huge waste of money? Most couples end up divorced anyway, so why bother?

But Richie looks at Eddie, and for the first time in his life, he  _ gets _ it. 

“I love you.”

Eddie looks up, and if Richie thought he was happy before - hoo, boy. Eddie’s smile is so bright that Richie stops breathing,  _ actually fucking  ** stops breathing ** _ **_,_** nearly misses the response over the sound of his roaring heartbeat.

“I love you too, Rich.” And, oh God, he’s really screwed isn’t he, and he needs physical contact right fucking now, his soul is yearning for it, so he gets up and wraps his arms around Eddie from behind.

They stay like that for a minute or so, swaying to the music, when the song changes from some semi-slow shit to  _ Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now . _

It’s so completely fucking fitting, Richie is inclined to believe that the universe aligned just for them, and it would be rude not to do anything with that, right?

He begins to quietly sing the lyrics into Eddie’s ear, getting increasingly louder as the verse progresses.

_ Lookin' in your eyes _

_ I see a paradise _

_ This world that I found _

_ Is too good to be true _

At this point, he starts dancing with exaggerated movements, his voice getting even louder, drowning out Eddie’s half-hearted, amused protests of “I’m _cooking,_ idiot.”

_ Standin' here beside you _

_ Want so much to give you _

_ This love in my heart _

_ That I'm feelin' for you _

He looks at Eddie, expectant, and is met with a smile that is probably supposed to look annoyed, but it just looks fond.

Eddie joins in.

_ Let 'em say we're crazy _

_ I don't care 'bout that _

He turns around to Richie, casually turning off the stove with two fingers while his hips sway to the music.

_ Put your hand in my hand _

_ Baby, don't ever look back _

The kitchen is a little cramped; definitely not big enough for two adult men who have just decided to do an impromptu dance session, so they move to the living room just in time for the pre-chorus. They’re both in each other’s personal space as Eddie sings,

_ Let the world around us _

_ Just fall apart _

_ Baby, we can make it _

_ If we're heart to heart _

Richie joins in.

_ And we can build this dream together _

_ Standing strong forever _

_ Nothing's gonna stop us now _

Eddie turns the volume up, and it’s easily ten in the evening by now and they’re being very loud, but they couldn’t possible care less. Richie grins and dramatically jumps on the couch, dragging Eddie up there with him.

_ And if this world runs out of lovers _

_ We'll still have each other _

_ Nothing's gonna stop us _

_ Nothing's gonna stop us now _

_ Oh, woah _

For the next verse, they hop back on the floor, and Richie pulls Eddie close to him, just so he can boop him on the nose as he sings:

_ I'm so glad I found you _

Eddie’s nose scrunches up (how can one human being be so goddamn adorable?) and Richie, in a moment of genius, dips Eddie backwards, causing him to squeak in surprise.

_ I'm not gonna lose you _

_ Whatever it takes _

_ I will stay here with you _

He gets him back on his feet and grins as he dances around the smaller man, making sure to really put his hips into it. He probably looks like an idiot, but it makes Eddie laugh, so, who cares?

_ Take it to the good times _

_ See it through the bad times _

_ Whatever it takes _

_ Is what I'm gonna do _

It’s Eddie’s turn again.

_ Let 'em say we're crazy _

_ What do they know? _

They both make the same shrugging motion at that point and Richie snort-laughs. Eddie thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

_ Put your arms around me _

_ Baby, don't ever let go _

He presses his chest to Richie’s, who plays along and wraps his arms around Eddie.

_ Let the world around us _

_ Just fall apart _

_ Baby, we can make it _

_ If we're heart to heart _

They get through the rest of the song without breaking anything, which is kind of a miracle, and collapse on the couch when it’s over. They turn the music back down a little.

They’re both breathing heavily, but they’re smiling like crazy. Their gazes meet, and suddenly they’re laughing.

“We’re  _ridiculous,”_ Eddie wheezes.

Richie is laughing so hard he’s crying, which in turn makes  _ Eddie _ laugh even harder, to the point where his stomach is hurting, but he still can’t stop. Neither of them can, for a good few minutes.

Eventually, their faces end up so close that their laughter slowly dies down, though they’re still smiling.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

Richie leans a little closer, gaze going from his eyes to his lips. It’s obvious, what he wants to do, what he’s asking, but Eddie doesn’t mind how Richie’s voice drops to a whisper when he vocalizes it. “Can... can I...”

Eddie leans closer, too. Their lips are almost touching now. “I’d probably sue you if you didn’t.”

Richie laughs softly, then closes the remaining distance between them, presses their lips together in what has  _ got _ to be the softest kiss either of them has ever experienced. Richie’s hand comes up to rest on Eddie’s cheek, and Eddie has one hand on his hip, the other one on his neck. They’re already out of breath from dancing so it doesn’t last very long, but that doesn’t matter.

“I love you,” Richie says as they separate, then smiles. “I’ll never get tired of saying that.”

“I love you too, Rich,” Eddie says. He’s happy, happier than he’s ever been with Myra, and he cannot believe he missed out on this feeling for so long.

“I love you more.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Uh-huh. Totally do.”

“Oh,  _fuck you,”_ Eddie laughs, and kisses him again.

“Fuck me yourself, coward,” Richie breathes against his lips.

Eddie grins. “If you insist...”

**Author's Note:**

> (i feel like this is a good time to tell y’all to watch The Skeleton Twins if you haven’t already.)


End file.
